


Finding Love... Again

by bluemadridista



Series: Finding Love [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Break Up, Developing Relationship, Humor, M/M, Moving On, Real Madrid CF, i don't know what this pairing is, no sernando
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 12:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluemadridista/pseuds/bluemadridista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xabi has just been jilted by Fernando and finds love in Madrid with someone unlikely...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Love... Again

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't know or own these guys, but I really wish I owned Xabi.... 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this. I know the pairing is a bit odd. I wrote it a year ago when I was in a "ship Ramos with everyone" phase. It's a really cute fic, if I do say so myself.

Xabi had just transferred to Real Madrid from Liverpool. He was home, in Spain, on a team with his teammates from the Spain National Team, but he still had an aching lonely feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t miss Liverpool, per se, or England, but he missed Fernando. When his wife had left him a year ago, he was lost and Fernando had been there for him. He had been there, like a piece of home by his side. He understood him. He let him cry on him. He loved him. And Xabi loved him, more than he had ever even loved his former wife, the mother of his children.

Xabi had only been in Madrid a week, but he ached for Fernando. He missed the touch of his hand when he gently massaged away his aches after matches. He missed his lips gently brushing against his as soon as he awoke in the morning or just before he fell asleep at night.

As he sat on the pitch, stretching, Xabi thought of Fernando. Fernando was back in England, Liverpool’s star, talking Olalla into coming back home, and spending time with his beautiful babies. He was lost.

He lay back in the grass, his hands under his head. The sun beat down on his eyelids making him see red. He’d rather see red than the flashes of Fernando his mind conjured up every time he had a free moment.

When something eclipsed the sun, Xabi shielded his eyes and glanced up. Sergio Ramos stood above him, staring down with his trademark grin plastered on his strong, handsome face. Xabi had always been attracted to the younger Spaniard. It was impossible not to be. Everything about him was handsome, but Sergio had a reputation for being wild. Wild and crazy were not attributes Xabi looked for in a partner, so he never let his feelings for Sergio venture past a friend that he found attractive.

“Lazy today, Alonso?” Sergio asked. His grin widened as he spoke.

“Sure,” Xabi replied, crossing his arms over his eyes.

Xabi could sense Sergio sitting down next to him. He heard the grass crunch beneath him as he sat. His foot bumped Xabi’s leg as he stretched his legs out in front of him. “What’s your problem, Alonso?” Sergio asked. “You haven’t been the same old Xabi since you got here.”

“Jet lag,” Xabi replied.

Sergio chuckled and nudged Xabi’s elbow. “You’ve been here a week, mi amigo. You can’t blame jet lag anymore.”

“Serg, go stretch or something. I can hear your leg crunching the grass where you’re wiggling it, because you’re bored, trying to pretend to really care.”

Sergio’s face fell and he was glad Xabi couldn’t see him. He knew he had a reputation for being flippant with life and casual with lovers, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care about Xabi. He had been casual with lovers, because he never found anyone worth getting serious. Not everyone was lucky enough to have a Fernando. Sergio had always been jealous of Fernando, not his football ability or looks. Sergio knew he had plenty of those. He had been jealous of the way Xabi loved him, the way they loved each other. Sergio had always been incredibly attracted to Xabi. It was impossible not to be. He was beautiful, fit, talented, classier than anyone Sergio had ever seen – everything Sergio had ever wanted in a partner.

“All right, guys! It’s after seven! Let’s pack it in!” Iker shouted, waving his squad into the locker room.

Xabi was shocked to see Sergio still sitting next to him when he sat up. “What are you still doing here?” He asked as he stood.

Sergio shrugged his shoulders and stood quickly. He jogged off to the showers without a word. Xabi took his time getting to the locker room. He had not been working out properly since he left Liverpool and his muscles ached after a long day’s training.

When he finally reached the locker room, some of the others were already toweling off and getting dressed to go home or wherever they went after training. Xabi took a long, hot shower, letting the water caress his aching muscles. Everyone was gone by the time he ambled into the locker room to dry off and dress, save Cristiano who always primped the longest, and Sergio.

Sergio sat on the bench in front of his locker, fully clothed, running a comb through his damp hair.

“What are you still doing here, Ramos? I thought our pretty one was the only one left,” Xabi said with a chuckle. He wanted to appear to be something like the “old Xabi,” so Sergio would not interrogate him about his mood again.

“Ronaldo is not the only pretty one,” Sergio mumbled.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Serg. You’re very pretty,” Xabi said. He said it with a hint of sarcasm, but only because Sergio wasn’t really “pretty” in the soft way Cristiano was. He was strong and handsome.

“Shut up, Alonso,” Sergio shot back. “You know, I’ve been trying to be nice to you all day and you’ve been a jerk.”

Xabi held his towel in front of him and turned to look at Sergio.

Xabi’s hairy chest and the way the towel hung between his legs turned Sergio on. He had to avert his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Serg. I didn’t mean anything. Just messing around, acting like old Xabi.”

“Old Xabi didn’t mess around.”

It was true. Xabi would joke around, but not usually unless he’d had a beer or two, and not at the possible expense of someone else’s feelings. “I’m sorry. I was just trying not to act like I have been, so you wouldn’t bother me about what’s wrong and all that.”

“Sorry, I _bothered_ you.”

Xabi covered his face with the hand not holding his towel. “That’s not how I meant that. I just…” Xabi heard Cristiano coming out of the bathroom. “I don’t want to talk about this here,” he said, quickly toweling off and pulling on his boxers. He hated being naked in front of Cristiano. He always felt inadequate. Cristiano was like an Adonis. It was ridiculous, really.

“Later guys,” Cristiano said, grabbing his bag and walking out without bothering them.

Xabi was sliding on his socks when Sergio spoke again. “If you don’t want to talk here, why don’t you come over to my place?”

Xabi stopped with his sock half pulled onto his right foot. “What?”

“It’s after eight. Aren’t you hungry? We can eat, have a few beers, and try to get you back to old Xabi.”

 

Xabi reluctantly went with Sergio, riding in Sergio’s car with the assurance that Sergio would drive him back to retrieve his when they were finished with dinner. “Why are you doing this?” Xabi asked as he walked, slightly behind Sergio, up the walkway to Sergio’s large house. “You don’t…”

Sergio turned quickly. “Don’t tell me I don’t care, Xabi,” he interjected. “I care, okay. You’re…” _Beautiful. Amazing. A dream._ “You’re my teammate, mi _amigo_. I care.”

Xabi nodded. “I was going to say ‘you don’t have to do this,’ but gracias, mi amigo.”

Sergio blushed. Xabi clapped him on the back and smiled. Sergio hurried along up the walkway, just to avoid any more touching.

Sergio showed Xabi into the living room and then headed to the kitchen for drink. “I’ve got wine, red, and beer. Which do you want?” He asked.

“Beer,” Xabi called as Sergio jogged out of the large room.

Xabi had not been to Sergio’s house since the summer. In fact, the last time he was there, they were having a party. Fernando was there with him. They made love in one of Sergio’s pool chairs after everyone left or passed out.

Xabi sighed and walked around the room, taking in the new dark wood flooring and new chocolate brown leather furniture. Sergio’s couch was massive. He noticed Sergio had added new pictures around the room as well. Many were of Sergio’s family, but there were also quite of few of the squads, both Real and the National Team.

Tears filled Xabi’s eyes when he found a picture perched on Sergio’s bookcase in the corner from the night he had been remembering so clearly. He picked it up and stared at it, remembering the exact moment. Iker had wanted to snap a romantic shot of him with Fernando. They were seated, together in a large pool chair – not the one they made love in later that night. Fernando was wearing Xabi’s cardigan over his bare torso, because he’d gotten cold. His beautiful face was smiling as his head rested comfortably on Xabi’s shoulder. Xabi’s arm was around his shoulder, holding him close.

The photo would have been perfectly romantic, had Sergio not insisted on joining them. He was behind them with his arms in the air, tongue hanging out of his mouth, grinning like an idiot.

Xabi laughed sadly and wiped a tear from his cheek.

“Oh, is that what this is all about?” Sergio asked behind him.

Xabi jumped and sent the photograph crashing to the floor. The frame and glass busted on the hard wood floor. Xabi cursed and bent to retrieve it. “I’m sorry, Serg.”

“Don’t. Leave it.” Sergio placed the beers in his hands onto the bookshelf. He placed his hand gently on Xabi’s shoulder. “Xabier, please, don’t. You’ll cut yourself on the glass. It’s fine.”

Xabi stood up and wiped at the tears that were falling down his face. “I’m sorry. I should go.”

When he started out, Sergio grabbed his arm. “Xabi, your car isn’t here.”

“I’ll get a cab,” Xabi said, sniffing. He pulled away and started out again.

Sergio grabbed him and pulled him back, against his chest, and hugged him tightly. “Shh.” He caressed Xabi’s hair, his back, shoulders. “It’s okay, Xabier,” he whispered, gently kissing the side of Xabi’s head.

Xabi fell against him. He had lost the will to fight, the will to leave. He cried softly, soaking Sergio’s shirt with his tears. He hated to cry like this on Sergio. He felt foolish, but he had been holding his emotions in since he left Fernando, since Fernando told him he and Olalla would be patching things up with him gone. Everything flooded out in his tears.

Sergio didn’t think Xabi foolish. He knew how in love with Fernando he was. True love. He had shed a few tears for true love himself, knowing he could only dream about having such a thing. He stood there with him, muttering comforting words, rubbing his back, kissing his hair…until the buzzer sounded. Their food was at the gate.

“That’s the food,” Sergio said softly. “I have to go get it.”

Xabi nodded, but didn’t let go. Sergio was strong and warm and he smelled delicious. He didn’t want to let go.

“Um, Xabi…Either you’re going to have to let go or I’m going to have to pick you up.”

A part of Xabi just wanted Sergio to pick him up, but he knew Sergio was joking. He finally pulled away and started wiping at his face. “I must look terrible. I’m going to use your bathroom,” he said, hurrying away from Sergio.

 _You don’t look terrible,_ Sergio wanted to say as he watched Xabi disappear into the hallway. He kept quiet, however, and rushed outside to retrieve their paella – beef for him, chicken for Xabi. When he walked back into the house, he went straight to the kitchen, expecting Xabi to be there waiting. The kitchen was empty. He placed the food bag on his small table in the corner of the kitchen, and walked toward the bathroom in the hallway. Empty, light out, door open.

He finally found Xabi in the living room with his kitchen broom in hand, cleaning up the mess of broken glass. “Xabier, I told you not to worry about that.”

“I wanted to clean up my mess. I’ll buy you a new frame as well.”

“No, you won’t. It’s fine.” Sergio walked behind him and forced him to let go of the broom. “Why don’t you go to the kitchen? The food is there. I’ll finish with this.”

Xabi tried to argue, but Sergio forced him out, pointing to the door like one might if their dog or small child was being sent to time out.

With Xabi gone, Sergio bent and picked up the photograph from the busted frame. He stared for a long time, remembering that night very clearly. He had spent most of it staring jealously at Xabi and Fernando. He was ashamed to admit it, but he had caught them having sex in his pool chair. He watched for almost a minute, longer than he should have, from his upstairs window. He had envied Fernando more than ever after that, after watching Xabi sliding over him, into him, all while he kissed his lips and stared into his eyes. He had never had sex that way. He had never been taken. He was always the taker and always from behind. He wanted someone, Xabi, to take him or let him take him while they stared into each other’s eyes.

“Serg…”

Sergio jumped and dropped the picture to the floor. “Y-yeah? Xabi, what, what do you need?” Sergio cleared his throat and glanced at Xabi. He ran a nervous hand through his hair.

“Nothing. I just wondered if we could eat outside. The weather is still pretty nice.”

“Yeah, of course. Whatever you want. Go on out. I’ll be there as soon as I get this cleaned up. And yes, I’m sure I don’t want you to do it.”

Xabi’s mouth hung open as he was going to ask that very question. He smiled. “Gracias, Serg.”

 

Xabi was seated, well, reclined, in a padded pool chair (new – nothing like the love-making one), happily eating his rice dish when Sergio walked out. He had their beers in hand. “We forgot about these,” Sergio said, holding one of the San Miguel bottles out for Xabi.

“Gracias,” Xabi said, immediately taking a drink. “That is so much better than English ale.”

“Everything is better in Spain,” Sergio said with a grin. He pulled a pool chair close to Xabi’s and flopped onto it. Xabi handed him his dinner. He thanked him and started to eat.

“Listen, Serg, about before, I…”

“You don’t have to explain, Xabi. I get it. You miss him. You love him.”

Xabi looked away when tears burned his eyes. “You understand that? Have you been in love?”

Sergio’s stomach turned. If he was being honest with himself, he _was_ in love…with Xabi, but could he say that…to Xabi?

“Sorry. You don’t have to tell me,” Xabi said.

“No. It’s just…I don’t really know,” Sergio admitted, chugging down the majority of his beer. “I feel like wine,” he said suddenly. “I’ll be back.” Sergio stood quickly, left his food on the chair, and started off. “Do you want some wine?”

“No. Wine makes me tired and weird.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure, Serg. I don’t want any.”

Sergio returned moments later with a bottle of wine, an empty wine glass, and another beer for Xabi.

“Oh, thanks. I haven’t even finished the first.”

“Well, drink up. You seem like you could use it,” Sergio said. “No offense.”

“None taken.” Xabi shrugged his shoulders. “You’re probably right,” he said, taking a drink from his first bottle of beer and placing the other on the deck next to his chair.

“So, how’s your food?”Sergio asked, hoping Xabi would not revisit the “love” subject.

“It’s good. It’s not as good as my paella, but it’s good.”

“I’ve never had your cooking. I love my mom’s paella. Mine is pretty good. It’s her recipe, but still not as good as hers.”

“You cook?” Xabi was genuinely surprised. Sergio was so kooky. He didn’t picture him as doing anything very serious at all.

“Of course, I do,” Sergio said as if Xabi was out of his mind. “I love to eat, you know that!”

“Well, everyone eats, Serg. Not everyone cooks. I just didn’t put you as the cooking type.”

“What type is that? The girly type? Cristiano is one step away from Girl and he can’t cook for shit.”

Xabi laughed so hard that he spit beer all over. Sergio laughed at him. “Damn, I’ve got beer all over my shirt!” Xabi exclaimed, still laughing softly.

“Sorry, amigo,” Sergio said. “You can borrow a shirt, if you want.”

“I didn’t mean like a girl,” Xabi said as he followed Sergio into the house to get a shirt. “You’re just not very serious or homey. I figured you ate at restaurants all the time, or ordered in, like tonight.”

“I could’ve cooked something,” Sergio said defensively. “But it was getting late and I thought you’d be hungry. I was thinking of you.”

Xabi stopped at the back door and watched Sergio walk in front of him. The way Sergio spoke, the defensive tone with an underlying note of hurt, made Xabi wonder if he really cared about him on some level of which he was completely unaware. Xabi shook his head. Of course, he doesn’t, you idiota. You just wish he did, so you could forget Nando and feel those strong arms wrap around you, feel those soft lips on your…

“You coming, Xabi?”

Xabi jumped like Sergio had fired a gun at him. “What?”

Sergio’s face twisted in confusion. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Sergio walked back to him and grabbed his shoulders easily. “Did I say something?” Xabi shook his head. “Come on, man. Let’s get that shirt. There’s beer all over you.” Sergio laughed to diffuse the tension and slapped Xabi on the back.

Xabi stood at the doorway to Sergio’s bedroom while Sergio jogged into his closet. “You can come into the room, Xabi,” he called.

Xabi walked in slowly and glanced around. The room was clean. Furniture was nice and what you’d expect for a bedroom. Sergio had more pictures around on the dresser and night tables. The pictures on one of his night tables were of his family: mother, father, brother, and sister. On the other, there were two photographs. One was of Sergio, holding the European cup that Spain won in 2008.

The other photograph shocked Xabi. It was of him. He and Sergio were celebrating after that win in 2008. Xabi remembered being a bit drunk when the photo was taken. He was kissing Sergio’s cheek, almost his lips. He started to pick it up, but thought better of that when he remembered the fiasco downstairs. He sat on the edge of the bed and picked it up. If Sergio startled him, he wouldn’t drop it from a sitting position.

Sergio had decided to change his own clothes. He had been wearing tight jeans and a button-down. He exchanged those for football shorts (Spain) and a plain white t-shirt. He kicked off his tennis shoes and socks and slipped into sandals. “I should make you wear one of my jerseys!” He shouted, laughing. He wanted to seem like he was joking, but he would die to see Xabi in his jersey. It was a weird fantasy he had. He would love to wear Xabi’s jersey as well.

“I don’t care,” Xabi said. He was too distracted with the picture and what it was doing on Sergio’s bedside table to care what he wore. “Sergio, what side of the bed do you sleep on?”

“Huh? The side furthest from the door. Why?”

Xabi’s stomach flipped. He slept on the side where he kept a photograph of him. Did that mean something or was his jilted mind overreacting?

Sergio walked out of the closet with a Real Madrid jersey in hand. “Why?” He repeated, tossing the jersey at the back of Xabi’s head. “What are you doing over there?”

Xabi placed the picture back on the nightstand and stood up. “I was just sitting,” he said.

Sergio’s heart thudded against his rib cage. He saw Xabi return the picture. He knew he had seen it. He never should have invited him into the room.

Xabi peeled his beer-soaked shirt off as slowly and seductively as he possibly could. He wanted to see Sergio’s reaction. Sergio looked like he was going to throw up – not the look you want from the guy you think could be into you when you perform a quasi strip tease. Xabi frowned and dropped his shirt onto Sergio’s bed.

Sergio fidgeted. Seeing Xabi’s shirt on his bed was something he wouldn’t have expected to turn him on, but nevertheless, he was getting hard. He cursed himself for changing pants. The jeans would have concealed that.

Xabi grabbed the jersey and started to slide it on. “Don’t put that on!” Sergio shouted.

Xabi jumped. “Serg, you’re going to have to stop startling me. I’m too young to have a heart attack.”

“Sorry. Just. Don’t put that on. I’ll get you a t-shirt.”

“Why? I’m not good enough to wear your shirt?” Xabi joked, but he had actually wanted to wear Sergio’s jersey. He used to wear Fernando’s, sometimes when they made love. There was something incredibly sexy about it. He wished he had one of his he could ask Sergio to wear. What reason he would give for wanting that, he had no idea, but it was a fantasy. Fantasy has no logic.

“You’re better than me, so yes, you’re good enough. I just…”

“I’m not better than you,” Xabi said, shaking his head. “But I am good enough to wear your shirt.” Xabi grinned and started to slide it over his head again.

“Xabi, please don’t,” Sergio begged.

Xabi threw the jersey onto the bed. It landed atop his shirt. Sergio thought he was going to explode. “Why the hell not, Serg?”

Sergio ran his fingers through his hair. “I…There’s probably some rule, isn’t there? Like you can’t wear another guy’s jersey.”

Xabi’s brow furrowed. “Well, then you broke it when you wore Cristiano’s around the locker room the other day, prancing around, and pretending to be him. Perez saw you doing that. I think we’re safe here in your bedroom where no one can see what we’re doing with each other.”

“Fuck it,” Sergio mumbled.

“What?” Xabi asked. Then, suddenly Sergio was on him. His mouth covered his. One hand was at the back of his head, holding him there, the other at the middle of his back. Xabi’s first, fleeting, instinct was to pull away. His second, lasting, one was to kiss back. He snaked his arms around Sergio’s back and pressed himself against him as he opened his mouth, granting Sergio’s tongue access.

Sergio’s tongue expertly slid into Xabi’s mouth and danced with his. He felt like he might lose his balance, like his knees might give out, and he clung to Xabi, digging his fingers into the soft, warm skin of Xabi’s perfect back.

When they finally pulled apart after two full minutes, Xabi looked down at the light carpeted floor, and asked, “Why did you do that?”

Sergio backed away. “Well, you were shirtless, trying to put my jersey on, talking about being in my bedroom doing things to each other!” Sergio sounded almost hysterical.

Xabi shook his head. “I should have known,” he muttered, grabbing his soiled shirt. He slid it back on and started for the bedroom door.

“Should have known what?” Sergio spouted.

“That you got turned on, plain and simple. Nothing more, nothing less. Sorry, Sergio. I’m not looking for some rebound one-night stand.”

“You think I’ve had that picture on my bedside table since the day it was taken, because it turns me on?” Sergio shouted when Xabi reached the doorway.

Xabi stopped, but didn’t turn back.

“I put a picture of you kissing me on my bedside table over a year ago, because that was probably the best day of my life. Spain won the Euro cup and you fucking kissed me. You, Xabier, the perfect fucking man. I know it didn’t mean anything. It was a celebration, but I was in love…” Sergio stopped abruptly. He hadn’t expected those words to come out. His mouth was running without really consulting his brain on what to say.

“So, you have been in love?” Xabi said, turning back to face him. “Why didn’t you just tell me when I asked you point blank earlier if you’d been in love? Hell, why didn’t you tell me then – a year ago?”

“Why didn’t I… Then? Why?” Sergio sputtered. “You were married, Xabi! And seeing Fernando on the side! What was I supposed to do, beg the pardon of _both_ your lovers, to express my love for you?”

Xabi frowned. Sergio had a point. Xabi probably wouldn’t have believed him if he had told him anyway, but even if he had, he wouldn’t have given up his wife, or even Fernando for him. “I’m sorry, Serg. I really am.”

“Don’t be,” Sergio muttered, sitting on the edge of his bed next to his jersey. “It’s not your fault you were smart enough to fall in love with people who were actually interested in you.”

Xabi walked around to his side of the bed. “I’m interested, Sergio. I’ve always been interested. Who wouldn’t be? I just didn’t think you were the type I was looking for.”

“What type is that? Married and then all-to-eager to leave you for his ex-wife when things get complicated?”

Sergio’s words hit Xabi like a slap to the face. He recoiled like he would if he had been slapped.

Sergio immediately apologized. “That was unfair. I’m so sorry, Xabier.”

Xabi shook his head. “It’s true. I was always more in love with Fernando than he was with me. Olalla was his first love. They have children.”

“He did love you though.”

“I know, just not as much as I loved him. We never would have survived the distance. I’m glad he has someone. It’s lonely with no one.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Sergio said, rolling his eyes.

“Maybe I do. Maybe I have to tell you that and maybe I have to tell you that maybe we don’t have to be lonely anymore.”

Sergio looked up at him. “Do you mean…?”

Xabi stared down into Sergio’s eyes and said, “I’m interested.” Xabi walked to the edge of the bed, standing directly in front of Sergio and pulled his wet shirt over his head. This time, he discarded it on the floor.

Sergio slowly reached out and traced the lines of Xabi’s sides with his fingertips. Xabi shivered and goose bumps flocked to his beautiful tan skin. Sergio grabbed his sides and pulled him closer, softly kissing his stomach.

Xabi threaded his fingers through Sergio’s long hair as Sergio pulled him onto his lap. Xabi straddled him and Sergio covered his lips with his. Xabi gripped Sergio’s long brown locks as Sergio’s tongue played with his.

Sergio grabbed his hips and pulled him up, grinding him against his growing erection. When Xabi felt it through his pants, he pulled away. “I can’t do this,” he said, sliding backward off Sergio’s lap.

“Do what?” Sergio asked, reaching out for him. He took his hands in his and stared up at him.

“I can’t sleep with you. It’s too soon. I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t want to sleep with you. I just can’t. Not yet.”

“We don’t have to sleep together, Xabier. I can keep it in my pants, contrary to popular belief.”

Xabi giggled. “Thank you. Can we just finish dinner, maybe?”

Sergio nodded and stood up. “Can I keep kissing you throughout the night?”

“Absolutely.” Xabi kissed his lips quickly and snatched the jersey from the bed. “I’m wearing this,” he said, sliding it on before Sergio could protest.

“Oh, damn. That’s hotter than I thought it would be. Are you sure you don’t want to have sex?”

Xabi glared at him. “No, I don’t. Thank you for the compliment. Remind me to get you into one of my jerseys the next time you’re at my house.”

“Shut up or I’m going to explode,” Sergio said, grabbing Xabi’s face and ravishing his lips.

Xabi forced himself away a few minutes later. “Let’s go downstairs before we both explode,” he suggested.

Sergio grabbed Xabi’s hand, threaded their fingers together, and led him out of the room. “Oh, what about my shirt?” Xabi asked when they were about to step onto the top stair of the staircase.

“Forget it. I’ll get it later and wash it for you.”

 

“Later” didn’t come until the next day. Sergio washed the shirt, but didn’t return it. He slept in it frequently. Xabi left after finishing the paella, and kissing Sergio countless times, wearing Sergio’s Real Madrid jersey. He slept in it and his boxers that night.

That night was the first night he went to sleep without first staring at pictures of Fernando, starting to call Fernando fifty times, and crying. He settled into his bed, smelling Sergio on his jersey. His eyes were nearly closed when his phone on the bedside table chirped and buzzed.

He grabbed it, and for the first time, did not wish it was Fernando. He hoped it was Sergio and it was. _I hope you made it home okay. Love, Serg_

Xabi smiled and quickly replied, _I’m just fine. Gracias. Love, Xabier_

Xabi stared at his text for a minute. “I’m just fine.” He had said that countless times since his move from Liverpool. For the first time, he actually believed it.


End file.
